You come home from work a couple years later. Your dog Spitz is dead in your driveway. His guts bulging out of his mouth. What the fuck! Your sure you didn't run him over. You felt no bump and he was in the fenced in back yard. You get a plastic lawn leaves bag from the shed and put your beloved friend in it. You leave the dog in the shed for now. You need a couple beers after that one. You unlock the door and walk inside a few steps before you notice there's three Men in the room. Gerald Ellon and his son Rolls Royce Ellon. The other Man is big and wide and brutal looking. "Shame about your dog, but look on the bright side, Your dog is far luckier then you are going to be".
"He sounded like a meat tube stuffed with greasy humus being run over by a steam roller1" , The 15 year old son of Ellon laughed. You make for the door but that big wide Man is fast. He cuts you off and thrusts out his chest and it hits you like a football tackle. You are flung backwards and to the floor. "To succeed in business you must first take a life. We are going to hurt this low life a lot for a really long time but I want you to be the one to take his life".
"Sure Dad!" , "I'll make you proud".